The Extra's Rebellion
Chapter 64: Space Vs Steam

Chapter 64: Space Vs Steam

Cealsen’s eyes widened—too late.

The scythe carved through the air with a shriek, its edge glowing faintly from friction. He flinched back, but horror overtook him as the blade detached from the pole—growing rapidly in his vision.

He ducked, barely avoiding decapitation, but not unscathed. The blade grazed his scalp, carving a red line across his temple. Blood arced into the air like a comet’s tail.

Zephyr didn’t stop.

He twisted mid-swing, letting momentum hurl him into a spinning backhand. The blunt end of the staff nearly cracked Cealsen’s jaw, but the boy staggered backward—limbs tangled, balance shattered by pain and shock.

Zephyr didn’t follow through— his body wouldn’t let him.

He stood there—panting, blood pouring from the wound above his ribs, pooling at his feet. His right leg trembled violently. His chest heaved. Each breath dragged fire across his ribs. He was weakening— fast.

The detachment was supposed to finish it.

It had failed, Cealsen had ducked. Even injured, the boy’s instincts had carried him.

But the wound—that wound—it was enough.

’My chance’.

Zephyr’s eyes locked onto the blood trailing down Cealsen’s temple. The boy’s vision blurred.

’That’s it’.

Cealsen didn’t dare wipe it away. Not with Zephyr staring him down—any movement could be fatal.

But fate was against him today. The blood slipped into his eye.

He blinked—reflexively, a fatal mistake.

When his eyes opened, Zephyr was already mid-strike.

The scythe swept in from the right, angled for his temple. Simultaneously, Zephyr’s left hand moved—a mirrored strike.

Cealsen had one option.

Duck.

He dropped low, avoiding the strike by a whisper, but he didn’t see the grin forming on Zephyr’s face.

A whisper of Aether. A flicker of space bending.

"Limbo— Border Jail."

Behind Cealsen, space locked solid like an invisible wall. The clueless Cealsen didn’t know, and rammed his head against the harden space.

Bang.

The back of his skull slammed into it. His eyes rolled. For a second—blackness.

Zephyr moved.

Left hand dropped the gun. Right hand twisted the scythe’s staff—blade snapping back into position.

He unleashed one sharp palm strike. The tip adjusted—redirected toward Cealsen’s temple.

The boy barely regained consciousness— Just enough to feel the pain.

Crack.

The scythe pierced bone. Then brain.

Cealsen collapsed, twitchless, blood and gray matter leaking from the hole in his skull. He head gasped open like a tore soccer ball.

The world fell into silence.

Zephyr stood above him, blood-soaked, swaying. His vision wavered. His body screamed, but victory numbed it.

Then space spoke to him. Then— a whisper, not of wind not of breath. But of pressure.

He heard it a second too late.

Vapor— Scorch Bastille.

A whistle tore through the air. Temperature spiked.

He turned—too slow.

A pillar of searing vapor shrieked toward him. He raised his arms on instinct. Uniform melted. Metal warped. Skin sizzled.

He flew back, crashing to the stone floor, pain bloomed like shattered glass across his ribs.

His blurry vision finally cleared up to see her. From the fog—she stepped out. Angry, anxious— Rage incarnate.

Her boots hissed with every step. Steam vented from their joints like exhaust pipes.

Lyria Vance.

He didn’t know her well—just enough to catch her name when she saw him playing with the interface in class. He hadn’t cared too much then, but he did now.

His scythe’s shaft was blackened, fused to his hand—red as boiled crab shell.

He tried to pull free. He couldn’t.

The building finally collapsed around them. Somehow, nothing fell on him.

Then—her voice, quiet. Carried by the receding steam and dust swirling in the air.

"That is my soulmate".

She sat beside Cealsen’s corpse, resting his ruined head on her chest. She sobbed—quietly, brokenly. She didn’t care that half his skull was gone.

Zephyr’s voice rasped, dry and raw— "Was I supposed to let him kill me?".

If she heard, she gave no sign, he tried to move. Her back was turned. Vulnerable.

He couldn’t. He forced Aether through his limbs, mimicking the healing techniques Merin had taught.

’Damn it. If I’d learned even one healing Hollow Art for healing’.

But Merin had forbidden him from learning them—insisting he master control first through mimicry. It worked slowly— too slowly.

Steam curled from his body as his Aether fought to repair the damage, too late.

She raised her hand. A dial turned, pressure built. White-hot mist erupted— A compressed pulse of vapor exploded outward.

Zephyr barely rolled away. The steam screamed past, tearing a trench in the stone.

His vision blurred. His limbs moved slow. Heat was in his blood, his lungs.

He coughed—blood flecking the ground. He struggled against his body desire to remain on the floor, he rose from his knees—barely. Pain dripped from every inch of his body.

Then—space whispered again, but softer this time, like the attack was directed at something else or it was directed at someone else,

A blue streak tore through the sky like vengeance incarnate. It darted through low beams and pillars as it found it’s mark— Lyria’s head.

Bang.

Her head exploded like overripe fruit. A crash of thunder followed—the delayed scream of vengeance. Flesh. Blood. Bone. Brain matters.

All that remained of her head were briefly suspended on the air, connected by arcs of lightening. It was as if her brain had exploded outward before everything evaporated die to the heat.

Her tensed body loosened up as it fell on top of Cealsen’s dead body with a sickening wet sound.

Zephyr stood dumbfounded at the scene, a singular thought circulating in his head. ’well that escalated rather quickly’. Then he turned to see the rapidly approaching silhouette of a boy.

He had black hair with electric blue streaks lining, his eyes were electric blue in colour and he had a lean build.

He was wearing a bloodied grey shirt and black pants. He stopped just few meters from Lyria. He looked at her with an interested expression on his face.

Then he directly ignored Zephyr then with a perverted expression on his face he started to rub his foot on her backside.

His face was split with a grin so wide it stretched to his eyes. He continued to fondle her butt with his foot his eyes shinning, his hand underneath his pants doing some questionable things.

But he was interrupted when he heard the familiar sound of blade parting the air.